


Tripping Over Stars (and Love but That's a Secret)

by GayChaton



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Years, Partying, Real names? what r those?, Romance, Star Tipping - Game, deaf!Finch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayChaton/pseuds/GayChaton
Summary: “Relax, I’ll run away with you and your stupid adventure,” Spot said. “Are we getting hammered first?”“No,” Race said. His face split into a wide grin that was as worrying as it was hot.Spot raised his eyebrows. “Who are you and what the fuck have you done with Higgins?”





	Tripping Over Stars (and Love but That's a Secret)

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an excuse for me to write a lot of the newsies being friends and happy. Not sorry at all.

Spot leaned against the freezing car window with a frown.  
  
He glanced over at Jack, who was singing under his breath along with the Christmas carol playing on one of those twenty-four-hour-Christmas-music radio channels. It wasn’t even Christmas any more. In the backseat, Crutchie and Mouth were bracketing Ace, who was simultaneously typing something up on her phone and complaining about her college courses.   
  
“How far?” Spot mumbled.   
  
“Not far,” Jack said, like that was an answer in any capacity.   
  
Spot grunted, glancing in the rearview mirror at the distant lights of New York City. “I should’a stayed in Brooklyn.”   
  
“Liar,” Jack said in return.   
  
Spot glared in Jack’s direction.   
  
Jack just grinned. “Merry Christmas and happy Hanukkah.”   
  
“They’re both over already,” Davey pointed out from the backseat.   
  
“Oh, yeah,” Jack frowned. “Well happy New Year.”   
  
“I’m not feeling the spirit,” Spot grumbled.   
  
“Hey, you’re in the front seat,” Crutchie pointed out. Something bumped Spot’s seat, and he shot a glare right back to Crutchie. “Be thankful.”   
  
“Thanksgiving’s passed already,” Spot said. He guessed he should be grateful he got a good seat, but that was only because he’d listed it as one of his demands from his conditional agreement to come along. It was New Year’s Eve, after all.   
  
All the other kids from their awkward group had squawked and argued over who would sit where, because of course Albert wants to sit next to Race and Race wants to hang out with Jack but Jack has to drive Davey and Ace so the next choice is Specs but Specs and Romeo were dared to hold hands continuously all night and anyway Romeo wants to talk to Smalls but Smalls and Henry always hang out everywhere and and and—   
  
And Spot thinks if they could they would have rented a bus so they could all ride together.   
  
“Cheer up, Spot. Isn’t there something you’re looking forward to tonight?” Katherine asked. “Anything at all?”   
  
“Free food,” Spot grunts, leaning against the window.   
  
“King of Brooklyn, you’re actin’ like quite the downer tonight,” Jack said. He reached out and elbowed spot in the arm. “Cheer up, the rest of us want to have some fun.”   
  
Spot scowled. “That’s what you said on Christmas, right before someone spiked the eggnog and we all nearly got arrested.”   
  
“Hey that was only because Mush was smokin’ weed and the cops almost caught us,” Jack pouted. “B’sides, we saved the day. All turned out great.”   
  
“What happened?” Katherine asked. She’d been missing from the party at Medda’s house because of her own family Christmas dinner obligations or something.   
  
“Race just about dumped his eggnog on the cop’s vest, all over his front,” Jack said, waving at his chest for effect. “And Spot does this babysitter routine like it was a drunk mistake, but it was pretty damn clever cause with the eggnog, the officer couldn’t smell a damn thing. And Spot lights a cigarette and huffs it out in their faces like it’s nothin, and everyone gets away with a warning for noise and a word to Spot about smoking indoors.”   
  
“I hate smoking,” Spot growled. “And I hate Race for that.”   
  
“Savior of the party. We all owe you a huge debt,” Jack teased in that voice that said he would never live it down.   
  
“I don’t get it, Spot,” Mouth said from the back seat. “You talk and grumble about how much you hate being dragged to these parties, which would be understandable actually, were it not for the huge amount of evidence saying you love them. Not only do you keep showing up, you actually protect the group itself too.”   
  
“He just likes to complain,” Jack said.   
  
Davey wasn’t done though. “Spot, isn’t there _anything at all_ you’re looking forward to?”   
  
“Free food,” Spot repeated.   
  
“Yeah, more like free eye-candy,” Ace said.   
  
Spot turned sharply in his seat, but Jack was already cackling loudly and the entire car was snickering. At least he could glare down Katherine as they drove.   
  
“Don’t look so upset,” Katherine added. “Race’ll be here tonight, I’m sure you’ll have all the candy you can eat.”   
  
So anyway the car ride was hell.   


* * *

  
By the time they parked and set up the site, a few boys were setting up tables with all kinds of booze across from the fire pit.   
  
Spot wandered up to a table, having found himself free of his foster-brother as soon as Davey felt the need to set up the trunk of Jack’s car as a portable bed (demanding Jack’s help in doing so). A few boys, Mush, Blink, and Dutchy were setting up the main liquor gallery, filled with at least twenty bottles of alcohol.   
  
“Spottie,” Kid Blink greeted distractedly, though he at least threw out an arm to pat Spot’s shoulder. “What’s new?”   
  
“Anything I can steal for the night?” Spot asked.   
  
“Hell no,” Blink scowled. “It ain’t even nine yet, no you can’t steal a whole bottle of anything. Unless you just want beer, and I know you don’t just want beer.”   
  
Spot chuckled. Blink was right, but he couldn’t leave it at that. “Well some of us don’t want to get shitfaced on a random hill when they can’t get home without a ride.”   
  
“Actually wait,” Mush said. He walked up on Spot’s other side. “That sounds like the perfect excuse to get shitfaced. It’s not on you to get home.”   
  
“Hangovers are not to be fucked with,” Spot shrugged.   
  
“Never stopped you before,” Blink snickered. He looked down at the bottle in his hands again, seemingly reading.   
  
Spot took full advantage of his blind spot on the left side of his face and flicked his ear, quickly hopping back a few feet.   
  
Blink jolted with a scowl, then grinned and passed the bottle to Mush. “Hold my beer.”   
  
“This is whiskey,” Mush said.   
  
“Doesn’t sound any better,” Spot said at the same time as Blink said “it’s a _saying!_ ”   
  
Then, Spot turned and ran, hearing Blink quick on his trail. They wove around the assortment of parked cars and through groups of friends, and Spot was keeping ahead until they came close to the fire pit. The group trying to set up the fire wasn’t moving out of Spot’s way like the others had, so he dug his heels into the dirt and slid to a stop before he could run Specs over. When Spot whipped his head back in Blink’s direction, he was charging Spot.   
  
So Spot charged right back at him, and they locked head on, wrestling for a moment before Spot overpowered Blink and tossed him off to the side. They circled each other with grins on their faces for a second before Blink darted forward, cuffing Spot over the head. Spot’s finger jabbed forward and landed in Blink’s stomach before he pulled away.   
  
They pulled away for a split second before there was a flurry of motion and—   
  
Spot actually flinched and fumbled for a second, because Kid Blink had _thrown his snapback_ and hit Spot square in the face.   
  
That moment of surprise was all it took for Blink to take full advantage and shove Spot sideways, where he crashed to the ground. He landed on his back and tensed sharply. Spot coughed, and forced himself to relax because he wasn’t in real danger and he didn’t want to actually jump up and sock Blink in the jaw, even if that’s what his experience in being thrown to the ground told him to do next.   
  
Instead, he propped himself up on his elbows and glanced at the night sky, but it was obscured by— _oh dammit._   
  
Race peered down at him, upside down, and smirking.   
  
“Hey,” Spot grit out. This was not good for his image.   
  
“So this is how the King of Brooklyn really fights,” Race snickered. “Defeat by hat.”   
  
“Shut it,” Spot said. He shoved himself upright and looked towards Blink, who was rubbing his ear and stomach with a grin.   
  
“I win yet, or we have to go another round?” Blink asked.   
  
“I’d have won if your gay-ass fashion statement didn’t become a projectile,” Spot said. An acknowledgement of the end of the fight, but sassy enough to satisfy his bitterness of having lost.   
  
Kid Blink touched his hat with his fingertips and grinned. “Hey, my gay ass has a boyfriend . At least I have that going for me.”   
  
Spot flashed his teeth in a frown, and Blink waved before proudly sauntering off. He realized that at that moment, he did not want a conversation to come up about how Spot was single when Race was standing right next to him, so he moved away from Race as well.

 

Spot watched folks settle down, including Jack. While yes, Jack had a reputation of crazy partying and some fucked-up stunts while drunk, Spot knew that Jack was also often introverted and distanced, and needed time away from the larger group. He’d seen Jack sit on the sidelines of entire events before for no good reason with the excuse at hand of keeping Davey company, but that was bullshit and most people knew it. So, when Davey perched himself on the hood of Jack’s car with a can of beer in his hands, Spot sat on the ground, leaning against the other side of the hood and waited for Jack to fill the space between them.

 

“Why were you bein’ chased earlier?” Davey asked.

 

“Reasons,” Spot said.

 

“Would you lighten up?” Davey asked with a smile playing on his lips. “I know you know how to have fun. And these guys are your friends too, don’t act like we dragged you along with a group of strangers.”

 

“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much? What, Jack ‘n Crutchie never tell you to hush up?”

 

“Actually it rather helps their hard-ons.”  
  
Spot coughed in surprise. Davey laughed in victory. Honestly, Spot forgot how brutally sassy Davey could be; the boy’s anxious exterior was a good act and it only dropped when he was truly alone with friends. That circumstance was extremely rare, but Spot supposed he should have seen it coming. He’d forgotten Davey wasn’t _nearly_ as innocent as the schoolboy most folks saw him as.

 

“Sorry,” Davey said to break the silence, but he didn’t sound too terribly sorry. “Too far?”

 

“Shut it, Mouth, ‘m just thinkin’. Nothin’ to do wit’ you.”

 

“Right,” Davey said.

 

A couple of seconds later, Jack appeared from around a truck with two bottles of beer in his hands. “Oh. Davey, you coulda’ told me you got a drink already.”

 

“I’ll drink it,” Spot said, raising an arm.

 

Jack hesitated right in front of him. “Spot, you sure you wanna’ get drunk tonight?”

 

Spot scowled. “It’s a beer, I won’t get drunk from this.”

 

“It’s a start to gettin’ drunk,” Jack said, but he pressed his extra bottle into Spot’s palm and took his seat on his hood next to Davey.

 

For a few minutes, maybe half an hour or so, they chatted in low voices. Though they talked for quite a while, not much of value was said about anything, and there were lapses of silence where they watched other boys around the fire pit or thought so hard they forgot to speak. Then, in one of the silences, Spot looked over and saw the two boys kissing slow and sweet but also kinda messy and gross. He stood up silently, deciding it was time to leave them to their own devices.

 

The boys at the fire greeted him with cheers and a red solo cup shoved into his hand. He was almost out of beer anyway, so he took it. It was only a third full, and had some dark liquid that Spot couldn’t quite identify. “What’s in this?” he asked to Finch.

 

Finch blinked owlishly. Specs, who stood at his side, grinned wide. No response came from Finch, who had handed him the cup in the first place. A beat later, he remembered why.

 

Spot set his beer and the cup on the nearest car and turned back to Finch. A few of the boys in the group were deaf, so most of the boys picked up some ASL here and there, but Spot wasn’t near fluent, and wasn’t even close to conversational level. Still, they were staring at him like they expected him to try, so he was damn well going to. He upturned his hands, making clawed fingers and shook them outwards twice, then pointed his right pointer finger at his left palm. **What’s this?**

 

Finch smiled, curled his hand, and flicked it as if miming himself sipping from a cup. **Drink.**

 

With a frown and a furrowed brow, Spot made a Y-shape with his right hand, touched it to his temple and made it bounce out. **Why?**

 

Finch made another two signs that Spot didn’t know the definitions of, but he got the meaning. **Just do it.**

 

Spot sighed and raised the solo cup to his lips. It tasted warm in his mouth, and he instantly got the idea that a fair bit of it was whiskey. He let it run down his throat, and a fruity taste rose on his tongue in the aftertaste. “Is that fucking wine in this whiskey?” Spot asked, staring at Specs.

 

“Hey, wasn’t my idea,” Specs said, signing along with his words. Then, he signed something to Finch, who smiled. “Finch is glad you didn’t spit it out. A bunch of others did.”

 

“Fuck you, I’mma drink this whole thing now,” Spot said, trying to scowl but smiling a tiny bit instead. Finch looked immensely pleased with himself.

 

Finch turned to Specs with a few hand motions, but when Specs started signing back, he no longer spoke it aloud as well. Spot took it as an indication that he wasn’t invited to the conversation.

 

Spot circled the fire, passing Henry and Albert arguing over sports cars, then glanced at Romeo, who was reading poetry out loud to Katherine. He paused, and considered intervening, but Romeo didn’t sound like he was trying to woo Katherine. When he stopped, he looked up and asked Katherine if he thought the rhyming was too cheesy. Katherine shook her head and complimented his symbolism. Spot smiled, glad he didn’t have to explain to anyone that Katherine was a lesbian.

 

He then passed by the booze table, but Kid Blink and Mush were both gone. Spot frowned; those two had bought most of the alcohol, so he’d expected them to keep an eye on it. With nothing else to do, Spot took a drink from his cup and moved on.

 

Someone stumbled into Spot, shoulder colliding with Spot’s chest.

 

Spot reached out his free arm to steady the boy, who turned out to be Buttons.

 

“Hey, thanks Spot Conlon,” Buttons said before turning to his friends. “Hey asshole! That wasn’t funny!”

 

Three other boys cackled at him. “It was pretty damn funny,” Elmer said.  
  
“It’s not funny! I trusted you, and you fucked it up! That’s the point of the game,” Buttons pouted. “It’s called a trust fall, not a fuck-over-yer-pal fall.”

 

Spot walked away with a chuckle on his lips. He came to a stop next to the side of a jeep a few feet from the fire pit.

 

“Whatcha drinkin?”

 

Spot turned to the voice and eyed Race as he slunk out of the shadows to stare at Spot. “Wineskey.”

 

“Whine-ski?” Race repeated, scrunching up his nose.

 

“Wine whiskey. Wineskey.”

 

“Sounds pretty shitty.”

 

“It is,” Spot agreed, looking down into the cup. “But who’m I to turn down a free drink?”

 

“An idiot,” Race said. He finally stepped closer to stand next to Spot instead of ten feet away. “What’s your plan for tonight?”

 

“Don’t end up sleeping on the ground,” Spot said. “Go home with Jack in the mornin’. Why, you plannin’ on leavin?”

 

“No, not exactly.”

 

“That sounds an awful lot like a lie.”

 

“Just gonna head down to the next hill with a couple of fellas until it gets closer to midnight,” Race said, raising his hands. “Was wonderin’ if you wanted to come.”

 

Spot blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to do much more than get more and more drunk around the fire.

 

“It’s only gonna be a few guys, so you better not run off an’ tell anyone else,” Race said with a frown like he thought Spot would do it just to spite him.

 

“Relax, I’ll run away with you and your stupid adventure,” Spot said. “Are we getting hammered first?”

 

“No,” Race said. His face split into a wide grin that was as worrying as it was hot.

 

Spot raised his eyebrows. “Who are you and what the fuck have you done with Higgins?”

 

“Shut up,” Race hissed with a grin. “This game’s more fun if you have control in the first place.”   


“ _Excuse me_?”

 

“You comin’ or what?”

 

After a moment of staring into Race’s eyes (which looked gray, which was sad because they were always such a vibrant blue shade but this dim firelight sucked the color right from them--) before nodding.

 

He had only enough time to register that Race grabbed his hand before he was pulled back to the shadows at an almost-jogging speed. Spot tried to keep his drink from splashing out, and eventually slowed Race down enough to chug it before Race pulled him to a jog again. While they ran, Spot realized Race was still holding his hand which was completely unnecessary, the moon was out and Spot could just as easily follow Race. He said none of this, and let Race pull him down a shallow dip to the next hilltop down. When they came to the top of the hill, Spot glanced back at the party, which was only about seventy or eighty feet away now. They were still in earshot if they yelled. When they passed the peak of the hill, Race let go of Spot’s hand.

 

They kept going, and slowed as they went down the hill to a small clearing and flat space. Two boys lay in the grass down there, unrecognizable from a distance.

 

“Hey!” Race called.

 

The boys moved slightly, then both pulled themselves into a sitting position as Race and Spot came closer. “Who’d you bring?” a familiar voice said.

 

“Spot," Race said.

 

“Spottie,” the other boy cheered.

 

Spot recognized the voices after a second. “Fuck off, Blink. How’s your night goin’, Mush?”

 

“Just fine,” Mush said. They were close now, and Spot could make out Mush’s smiling face in the moonlight. “You ever play this game?”

 

“What game is it?” Spot asked, glancing at Race.

 

“It’s called Star Tipping,” Race said. “Please tell me you ain’t never played it?”

 

“Well I haven’t, so wanna fill me in?”

 

“No way,” Blink said. He didn’t sound malicious, just excited. “That’s the fun of it. Let’s do it!”

 

“Hey,” Spot said, making his voice a notch louder in an attempt to grab their attention. “Someone tell me what’s goin’ on.”

 

“It’s a fun game,” Race said, putting his hand on Spot’s shoulder. “Nobody’s recording you and nobody’s gonna get hurt. No personal secrets, nothin’. Just trust me.”

 

Spot looked down at Race’s hand, which was warm and soft on his arm. “Okay, yeah,” he said, voice quiet.

 

“Sick,” Blink whispered. He sounded way too excited.

 

“Mush, you check around?” Race asked.

 

“Yeah, everything’s safe all around. No rocks or nothin’,” Mush said.

 

“Nice, let’s get going,” Race said. The three of them moved around Spot so that he was in the center of them. “Okay Spot, so look up.”

 

Spot stared at Race’s figure a moment before he glanced up.

 

“Idiot, not like that,” Race chided, and then a finger and thumb gently grabbed his chin and tilted his whole head up. Spot swallowed, but Race didn’t seem to notice. “Okay, pick a star?”

 

“Am I wishing on a goddamn star?” Spot grumbled, scanning the sky. There were plenty of stars all around, more than there ever were in the city. So many, actually, he could see the Milky Way lighting up the sky in a strip of light. How was he supposed to pick one?

 

“Shut up,” Blink said. “Pick one right above you.”

 

Spot looked directly up and locked his eyes onto the brightest one in the area.

 

“Okay, now listen,” Race said. His hands finally fell from Spot’s body. “We’re gonna tell you to spin in a circle, and we’ll count to thirty, and then we’ll say ‘reverse’, and you’ll spin the other way for another thirty. And then, when we say ‘stop’, you look back at us instead of looking up. Okay?”

 

“What the flying fresh fuck is this?” Spot asked with a sigh.

 

“Just do it?”

 

Spot took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, preparing for them to do some kind of sucker-punch when he stopped spinning. This was probably just some stupid ab-check game or excuse to make the mighty Spot Conlon dizzy from spinning around. Or maybe they would just run off, and laugh at how funny it was to make the tough-guy from across town spin in circles alone like an idiot.

 

“C’mon man, trust us,” Blink said.

 

As much as Spot wanted to scoff and say that he did trust them, his train of thought had literally just been the most doubtful thing he could think of. “Fine, let’s do it,” he said, staring at his chosen star.

 

“Alright,” Race said, and his hand reappeared on Spot’s shoulder. Everyone seemed to take a step back. Then, Race’s hand pulled lightly, and he said, “spin.”

 

Spot swiveled in place, his movements jerky at first, but he soon got a movement down. The others were muttering numbers in unison around him, but Spot was focusing on the star above and his own movement. He could step on the ball of one foot, spin on that for a few rotations, take a few shuffling steps, and do the same for the other foot until he was spinning smoothly enough to not look like a complete idiot. The other stars around his star tracked light in lines as he spun, as if their light was trailing behind in an arc.

 

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” the guys around him said.

 

“Reverse!” Blink called.

 

Spot threw out a foot to stop himself, and he felt his arms lurch at the sudden stop. His body wanted to pitch to the side, but he threw himself into the same pattern of spinning in the other direction. With the movement, he found his balance again in spinning in the dark until it was a pattern that was just making him a little light headed. The number counting became his primary focus, waiting for them to get to ten, then twenty, and he as going to win this challenge and stare this goddamn star down.

 

“Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine--”

 

“Thirty, stop!” Race yelled.

 

Spot threw his foot out again, but then there was a flash and his world went white.

 

 _Everything_ was white.

 

He thought he passed out.

 

And then, half a second later, he realized he had no control of what his body was doing.

 

His body had stumbled back fast, arms raising into loose, sloppy fists as if it would help him against the _unimaginably_ bright light that filled his entire vision. Then, spots of color, like when your eyes are closed and you can’t see anything but you think you can see color because your mind knows it _should_ be seeing something.

 

But the lights wouldn’t go away, and then he was pitching violently backwards and _oh no his feet aren’t supposed to be in the air--_

 

He landed flat on his back in the grass with a thump, arms tensed and pulled up like he was still in a fighting stance, but there was nothing to see or punch and there was no way he could manage the strength to punch anything when he was so dizzy--

 

And then he was laughing. His arms crossed to his stomach as he laughed loud, watching amusedly as his vision danced. His head was still swimming, but not at all in a bad way. He tried to prop himself up on one arm, just to push himself up a bit, but a new flash of light caught him in the eyes and he slipped right back to land on his back.

 

The grass was soft underneath him as he lay.

 

He felt like his little piece of ground he was lying on was spinning slowly in space, like a turntable record on slow. Slowly rotating, leaving the rest of the world outside his immediate surroundings nonexistent.

 

He chuckled a bit more, and regained the sense to listen. The other boys were laughing hard, much harder than he had been laughing. After another few moments, he regained enough of his vision to realize that they were holding LED flashlights, and swinging them to land on Spot’s face every few seconds.

 

“I dunno what the hell you did to me but that was trippy as hell,” Spot said. He would sit up but he felt like even doing that, he might tip over and fall harmlessly again to the ground.

 

“ _Star_ trippy,” Blink’s disembodied voice corrected.

 

“The first time is always the most intense,” Mush said. “It’s just a light trick on the brain, just makes you think you’re already falling.”

 

“An optical trick, exactly,” Race said. Spot realized that Race was closer than the others. In fact, Race was kneeling beside Spot. “The vertigo will pass, but it shouldn’t feel bad.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Spot agreed.

 

“Have fun?” Race asked, sounding amused. Spot imagined a lopsided smirk on his face, the one that Race got when he knew he was right about something, or sometimes when he made a good one-liner wisecrack.

 

“You guys are fuckin’ crazy,” Spot said. “Where-- where’d you come up with this shit?”

 

“Learned this from some college kids I knew from forever ago on a camping trip,” Race said. “I’ve gotten most of the guys to do it by now, but you’re never around when we do camping stuff. The effectiveness of the trick relies on how dark it is out, so it’s important to get it right.”

 

Spot blinked slowly and pushed himself to sit up. “So it’s not always this bad?”

 

“Nah,” Race said. “Just take a minute to breathe, then we’ll make Mush do it and you’ll see how fast he shakes it off.”

 

When he finally stood up and took Mush’s flashlight and place in the circle, he let the others count for Mush, but turned on his flashlight when they told Mush to stop. He noted that Blink and Race were actually turning theirs on and off repeatedly, but Spot tried to shine the light in Mush’s eyes as he stumbled.

 

Almost instantly, Mush jerked back and tripped, pitching to the side and tumbling. But just as soon as he hit the ground, he pushed himself up and stumbled to his feet with a stagger. He was dazed, but then he was laughing as he stumbled one way and then another direction. After another moment, Blink walked up to him and wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. Or at least, it seemed like that was the goal until Blink started kissing him.

 

“Why the circle?” Spot asked.  


“It’s not great if someone falls right away,” Race said. “If someone falls immediately, it could be because they passed out, not because they’re dizzy. We stand around in case we should catch them.”

 

“Oh,” he said lamely. “So this is safe?”

 

“Long as you don’t do it more than like, once a week,” Race chuckled. “But like, who goes camping more than once a month? So yeah it’s safe.”

 

“Aren’t you gonna take a turn?”

 

“Nah,” Race said. “I had too much to drink already. Might puke if I try doin’ pirouettes right now. Nice spinnin’ by the way. You took some real class in it.”

 

Spot felt his cheeks warming up. “Fuck off.”

 

“I know you were in a dance group or somethin’. Nobody just knows how to spin fancy like that, there’s always more to it.”

 

“You shut up someday maybe I’ll be able to talk long enough to tell you,” Spot smirked.

 

“Dick.”

 

“Must be a level five friend to access my tragic backstory and special skills.”

 

“Hey,” Race said, sounding unhappy. “I thought we were at least level seven, close to leveling up!”

 

Spot elbowed Race, and they stood in silence for a few seconds.

 

Race’s flashlight lit up again, shining and waving rapidly at Blink and Mush. “Hey! Let’s go get smashed, lover boys!”

 

“Like _you’re_ one to talk,” Blink called back.

 

As they walked, Spot kept wondering what the hell that meant. This time, Spot lit his path alone because Race had wandered a few feet off. Spot worried that he’d hurt Race’s feelings or something, but it wouldn’t do much good to confront Race without anything substansial to talk about, so he let it go.

 

Back by the fire, the boys were chanting in a circle, cheering at Crutchie, who was kissing Davey quite animatedly. Most of the boys in the area were partaking in the crowd cheering for whatever-the-fuck-was-happening, and a select few were doing something on one of the other tables.

 

Spot went over to them and finds them unpackaging bags of tiny hot dogs and marshmallows and unloading a box of about twenty metal sticks meant for cooking things over fire. When he asked if he could help, Buttons waved him off, so he joined Snipeshooter and Henry at the booze table and grabbed another beer.

 

“Where’ve you been?” Sniper asks, peering closer. “Henry thought you were off throwing up or something, but I thought you weren’t a lightweight like that.”

 

“Who the fuck said I was a lightweight?” Spot scowled. “Hell no. I was just off doing some stupid thing with Race.”

 

“When _aren’t_ you?” Snipeshooter said in a wistful voice, like she knew something Spot didn’t and she was waiting for him to figure it out. Well, the trick’s on her, because Spot knew _exactly_ how much of a crush he had on Race; he just didn’t want to share that with the world yet.

 

“What are you tryna say?” he asked.

 

“All we’re saying is you and Race are awfully close,” Henry said. “Lots of us are wondering if or when you’re gonna get together.”

 

Spot felt his face heat up, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing, because that would be embarrassing. “Your gaydar is shit and we all know it, Henry.”

 

“True,” Henry started, sounding unaffected, “but there’s plenty of guys around who are saying the same thing. Anyway I did say ‘if’. There’s no telling if it’s actually gonna happen or not, I’m just speculating.”

 

“Yeah,” Sniper said with a grin. “Gayboys need to get their shit together and hook up. Just be each other’s midnight kiss.”

 

Spot decided to ignore that. “Do you even have your own kisses planned?”

 

Sniper shrugged. “I’mma ask Smalls if she wants to give it a shot. If I get shot down, Henry’s cheek is mine.”

 

“So if you score your lesbian crush, Henry’s just alone then?” Spot asked, looking at Henry.

 

“I don’t think the kiss tradition matters all that much,” Henry said, shifting the almost-untouched bottle in his hands. “But for what it’s worth, I think you should ask Race if you do want to kiss him.”

 

Spot thanked them for their company and excused himself to go roast some hot dogs.

 

He amused himself in listening to the background chatter as he watched his skewered hot dog roast over the huge fire. Occasionally, he would draw his stick back, slide the finished dog off, pop it into his mouth, and impale a new one. It was actually quite relaxing to hear all the sounds of friends chattering away but not having to be responsible for talking to any of the drunk ones.

 

Somebody said something about it being ten minutes till midnight, and people started shifting away from cooking at the fire to mingle.

 

However, Spot was quite content to keep eating mini hot dogs into the new year.

 

He looked up, looking for a conversation to listen in on. The image of Albert raising a bottle of Jack Daniel’s high above his head stood out, and Spot strained to listen.

  
“You are not getting shitfaced,” Albert chuckled. “You didn’t want to earlier.”

 

“Fuck you,” the response came, and Spot realized it was Race. “Worst best friend ever. I just wanna get hammered.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Albert said as if explaining it to a child.

 

“Dude, just let me,” Race said. He reached up, but Albert’s arm pulled the bottle out of his reach. “Please?”  


“No. Just fucking talk to him, okay? He won’t want to talk to you if you slur all your words. That’s not why you’re friends.”

 

Race scoffed, and chuckled harshly. “Thanks for clearing that up, Al! No I fuckin’ thought we were only pals because he _loves_ it when I’m super drunk! He _always_ loves that. That’s how we met, actually, it’s our _favorite_ hobby--”

 

“Oh my god, Race,” Al said, putting a hand on Race’s chest. “Calm down.”

 

“Fuck you!”

 

Albert watched as Race turned and pushed his way through the crowd and climbed up onto somebody’s car to sit there. Then, Albert ran a hand through his hair and turned to the booze  table and put the liquor down.

 

Spot glanced at Albert and then at Race, and decided to intervene. He worked his way slower through the crowd, and approached the car Race was on slow. “Hey,” he said when he was the closest person to the car.

 

Race startled. “Oh fuck, it’s you.”

 

“Nice t’ see you too,” Spot smirked.

 

At least it made Race relax. He rolled his shoulders and pressed his eyes closed. “Sorry. Got in a fight with Al, I’m all jittery.”

 

After a second, Spot decided to pretend like he hadn’t eavesdropped. “What?”

 

“Yeah, I know right?” Race asked. “Pretty hard to imagine me doin’ something that could piss off Al. He’s seen it all, what could possibly piss him off?”

 

“You always find new and creative ways to exceed our expectations in many ways,” Spot said. It drew a laugh from Race. “Can I sit?”

 

Race’s eyebrows raised. “You want to spend the last minutes of the year with a dude who’s bummed out cause he just got in a fight?”

 

“Don’t make me ask twice.”

 

“Be our guest,” Race said. He patted the roof next to him. “This is my car, don’t be a stranger.”

 

“You got your license revoked,” Spot said, brows furrowing. He climbed up anyway.

 

“Elmer drove,” Race shrugged.

 

Spot breathed for a second, watching from above as boys conversed. The chatting had grown quieter, receding from the obnoxious yells of partying before. He scanned, and frowned. “Where’s the Three Muskequeers?”

 

“The Three Musk--” Race cut himself off with wheeze and a chuckle, and then covered his mouth. “Cowboy and boyfriends? Uh, I could tell you if you don’t want to be surprised.”

 

“I hate surprises,” Spot frowned.

 

“They set up fireworks in the valley with Ace a while ago. I assume they’re watching from another hill so they can make out in peace.”

 

“Huh,” Spot said simply. “Well, fuck. I was gonna sleep in Jack’s car.”

 

“Sleep in mine,” Race suggested. “Sleep with me.”

 

Spot felt his heartbeat start hammering. His brows furrowed. “What?”  


“I mean, like,” Race paused for a second. “Literally. Sleep next to me, with me, in my car. Dumbass, you don’t have to-- you don’t have to fuck me.”

 

“Uh,” Spot said dumbly. “Okay.”

 

“Fuck this is awkward,” Race hissed. “See this is what I was trying to avoid, literally this. If Albie had just let me--! Damn it. Sorry Spot, I’m a mess.”

 

“Hey it’s fine,” Spot said. He let out a breath and shrugged. “You’ve always been a mess, you just usually pull it off better.”

 

Race chuckled bitterly. “If only I were drunk enough, I would be. I’ve been told I make a hot mess.”

 

“Sure,” Spot said. A second too late, he realized it was said in a tone that was entirely genuine. He froze, expressionless, and glanced to Race, but Race was staring wide-eyed at him, just as frozen.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Spot didn’t say a word. He just turned his gaze out to the fire pit again and stared out.

 

“You said ‘sure’, as in, you agree?”

 

Spot felt his shoulders draw up involuntarily, and he tried to regain control of his heartbeat before he completely lost his cool. Down below, people were starting the countdown from twenty, reading from their phones and counting backwards.

 

“Spot, look at me.”

 

Finally, Spot made himself turn his head to the left and make eye contact again. He expected-- well he didn’t know. He expected something negative, some kind of amusement or disdain or pity or I’m-letting-you-down-easy look, but Race just looked vaguely nervous and unsure. The people counting down made it to eleven, ten, nine--

 

“I’m gonna do something stupid,” Race rushed out, “and if you’re really my friend you won’t hold it against me.”

 

Three, two--

 

Race pulled Spot over by the jaw and he went willingly and their lips connected in the middle.

 

Spot couldn’t figure out what the fuck was happening other than he was kissing Race and Race’s thumb was rubbing softly against his cheek and he raised his own free hand to hook onto Race’s elbow as they kissed because _woah_ they were _kissing--_

 

A loud whistling noise made them both flinch back and whip their heads towards the sound, but they were met with an explosion of oranges and reds and blues and beautiful hints of yellow in the night sky and Spot thought, _Oh, those are Jack’s fireworks._

 

Spot watched the colours fizzle and fall from the sky, disappearing into smoke that blended with the void of the night. His mind still felt like a whirlwind of messy excitement and happiness because the boy from Manhattan with a golden heart just kissed him. He felt like he was short circuiting, because Race was so warm and his hands were kind and soft and the kissing he’d experienced was very short and limited (and honestly he hadn’t exactly been taking notes on how it was), but it was indicative of a possibility that Race might want to do that _more_.

 

“Spot?” Race’s voice asked.

 

Spot dragged his eyes away from the fading smoke of the fireworks and back to Race. Race looked terrified, like he thought he just screwed up everything. But he’d been right, even if Spot only wanted to be friends and didn’t already have a massive crush on him, it _would_ be a dick move if he didn’t forgive Race for it. He wondered if there was anything particularly comforting he could say to make Race’s worries go away. “Happy New Year,” he settled on, and then put a hand behind Race’s head and pulled him back in.

 

Race was warm and soft, and he set his arm on Spot’s waist to steady himself. When Spot pulled away after a few seconds, Race was smiling, eyes slowly opening.

 

“Be my boyfriend,” Spot said, as if it were a command, but he knew his voice was a little shaky.

 

Race blinked in surprise. He sat up a little straighter as if to get a good look at Spot. Spot sat in place, breathing a little hard and hoping that Race couldn’t feel his hand shaking. “Yeah,” Race said. “Fuck, I thought you were gonna friendzone me or something.”

 

“I’ve liked you for far too fuckin’ long for that,” Spot mumbled.  
  
The look that Race gave Spot was filled with such admiration that Spot couldn’t conceive of what he’d done to earn it. “C’mere,” Race whispered, pulling Spot closer by his shirt.

 

Spot leaned into the warm kiss with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you like, I love to read what people like and what they catch and find funny.


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